


Burn

by smoochfestmod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoochfestmod/pseuds/smoochfestmod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry and Draco, as Auror partners, run into a potions accident, Harry assumes he’ll be lucky like he’s always been…but when the burn begins, he discovers that things have changed, including his luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist LJ Name: [hdwriter](http://hdwriter.livejournal.com/)  
> Prompter: tryslora  
> Prompt Number: 16  
> Title: Burn  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco; Ron/Pansy; Hermione/George; Harry/OC (only briefly); Draco/Astoria  
> Summary: When Harry and Draco, as Auror partners, run into a potions accident, Harry assumes he’ll be lucky like he’s always been…but when the burn begins, he discovers that things have changed, including his luck.  
> Rating: R  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): None?  
> Epilogue compliant? Only regarding the deaths.  
> Word Count: 7,700  
> Author's Notes: Thank you so much, J, for taking the time to help with this. J Dear Prompter, sex scenes are not my forte, so I apologize for this not being NC-17. Your overall idea (accidental bonding) definitely inspired me, and I loved the thought of the intensity growing with emotions. I hope this satisfies!

At first, Harry thought he’d just lucked out, like he always did. Sure, there’d been fumes of three illegal potions mingling, and yes, he could tell at least some of them had found their way through his Bubble-Head charm – still, he and Malfoy went to St. Mungo’s, and after extensive testing (he  _was_  the Boy Who Blah-Blah-Blah, after all), they’d both been cleared.  
  
  
So Harry left, assuming all was well and good. That lasted for a few days. On the first day, when the first symptom appeared, Harry figured it was a random thing or maybe something he ate. He and Jaron, Kingley’s cousin, had been making their slow way to Harry’s bedroom. This was a usual progression, and there was no reason to think those weird potions could affect anything in his relationship.  
  
  
He and Jaron had been introduced by Kingsley not long after Voldemort’s death. Then, Harry learned about all the Unspeakables had been doing behind the scenes – and he realised that Jaron and many others had been on Hogwarts grounds, minimising the carnage as much as possible. Jaron himself had saved numerous lives, including the remaining Creevey brother.  
  
  
By then, Harry had already discovered he preferred blokes, and, with Kingsley’s mentoring on the subject of wizard sexuality (which came on a difficult day of four funerals, including Fred’s, when Harry might have had a little too much to drink – hence the subject matter), Harry knew that the wizarding world cared little about sexual preference.  
  
  
In fact, in a truly ironic turn (in Harry’s opinion, at least), Voldemort had picked up the Muggle approach to sexuality, of all things. He'd passed it along to his pure-bred followers, and that explained why so many pure-breds still refused to accept same-sex relationships and bonding. But, as Kings explained that night, the truest bondings came about between two magical people who put their thoughts on gender aside and simply let their personalities and their magic mingle.  
  
  
Harry had embraced the idea wholeheartedly and, as he found Jaron incredibly sexy anyway, it all seemed to be working well. Jaron had the war experience, he had the ability and desire to fight against Dark magic, and Harry fancied him like mad.  
  
  
They’d been together for almost two years now, and they knew quite well how to please one another sexually. This night, the evening after the day of the raid, Jaron had Harry pinned to the corridor wall, right outside the bedroom. “Jaron,” Harry moaned. “We’re so close.”  
  
  
Jaron chuckled, his husky voice almost as velvety as Snape’s had been. “Oh, Harry, I know.” And he squeezed and nipped and sucked – and Harry, rather than coming in pleasurable white heat, as he’d expected, screamed. In pain.  
  
  
“Ahhhh!”  
  
  
Jaron, shocked, pulled back a bit. “Harry?”  
  
  
“Oh, God. It hurts – oh, shit.” Harry crumpled to the floor, whimpering and groaning. It was as if burning fire – and not the good kind – was sweeping through his groin, his chest, his head. It was both similar and not to Cruciatus, and Harry wasn’t sure where to go from here.  
  
  
Jaron knelt beside him, his dark skin still covered in a sheen of sweat. His large hands hovered over Harry’s head, his arse. “What should I do?” he murmured.  
  
  
“I – I don’t know,” Harry managed. The pain was so intense, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to use his prick again after this, even to pee. “God, what happened?”  
  
  
Jaron fetched his wand and began some basic diagnostic charms. “This is strange,” he said, and Harry could hear the frown in his voice, even though he couldn’t manage to open his eyes.  
  
  
“W-what?”  
  
  
“There’s definitely something going on, magically speaking, but it doesn’t register as anything I’ve seen before.” He paused, and Harry could feel Jaron’s gentle magic sweeping over him. Usually, his own magic would reach out to it and pull it in, even. Not this time – immediately, the fire began again.  
  
  
“S-stop! Please, Jaron. Oh, God.”  
  
  
Jaron didn’t hesitate. Instead, he grabbed a robe, threw it over Harry, got another for himself, and Apparated them both directly to Mungo’s.  
  
  
Three hours later, they left. Harry could walk again, and he’d finally managed to urinate. The healers had found nothing more than Jaron had, although their scans hadn’t hurt. “Yes, there appears to be some kind of magic at work here,” they’d said. “But we can’t identify it. We can’t even contain it in any way.”  
  
  
Jaron paced Harry’s living room. They’d been talking about moving in together, about making their relationship more permanent. Jaron’s work schedule had been the main deterrent and, in fact, he was scheduled to leave again in the morning. “You should rest,” Harry said, feeling even more exhausted than he sounded.  
  
  
“I can’t leave you like this,” Jaron said. His dark eyes met Harry’s. “Something happened to you, and we need to know what it was. I can’t imagine not being here if this happens again.”  
  
  
“Perhaps it was something I ate,” Harry suggested, even though it seemed far-fetched. Jaron had eaten from the same restaurant, had even shared most of Harry’s food.  
  
  
Jaron shook his head. “Were you hit by any spells today?”  
  
  
“No. I wasn’t even allowed to work, really, after the mess yesterday. Robards loved that, I’ll tell you.”  
  
  
Jaron frowned. “Yesterday…which potions were they?”  
  
  
Harry shrugged. “They couldn’t tell. After all that prep, by the time Malfoy and I arrived, it was mostly fumes and magical excess. I mean, the perps weren’t even there. Ron thinks Robards did it on purpose. He still doesn’t like me much.”  
  
  
“Harry. I’m worried about you,” Jaron said, sitting next to him on the sofa. When he put his arm around him, Harry leaned against Jaron’s solid and warm body gratefully, relieved when it only felt good.  
  
  
“I’m okay. I still think it’s a fluke. I just need rest – and so do you!”  
  
  
It took a little more convincing, but then Jaron agreed to let it go. For now. Harry knew it was only because they were both so tired that Jaron gave up.  
  
  
The next morning, when Harry woke (it was barely morning, truth be told), Jaron was long gone. He’d left Harry his usual note, though, which spoke in Jaron’s voice the second Harry stirred. “I’ll be back in eight days, luv. Be careful. Contact me if  _anything_  unusual happens.”  
  
  
Harry smiled, blowing the piece of parchment a kiss, like he always did.  
  
  
The following afternoon, however, as Harry writhed in pain in the middle of his office – experiencing very similar effects to that night – he wasn’t smiling any more. Still, after they checked him out again, and again found nothing more than some magical residue they couldn’t identify, Harry figured it was just one of those things. Part of him was relieved – Jaron hadn’t been near, so it clearly had nothing to do with him. Certainly, he’d get it out of his system soon.  
  
  
To that end, he let Kings suggest a couple of potions which were supposed to be especially good at clearing out a person’s magical system. Since Jaron was still gone – and Harry hadn’t exactly told him about the episode – it was a good time for a purge. The purge wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t horrible either. By the end of it, Harry was certain all was good.  
  
  
Until the day before Jaron was scheduled to return, and it happened again. As Jaron often went on trips, Harry had a routine. The night before Jaron returned, he’d have a long, leisurely wank. If he didn’t, he’d explode practically the second Jaron touched him, and they both liked a long welcome-home session. And because of his purge, he definitely needed something, as he felt pent up after days of not being able to have any kind of release.  
  
  
This night, like he always did, Harry lit a couple of candles they’d made together – candles which smelled like Jaron to Harry. Then, lying naked on their bed in Harry’s flat, Harry began the ritual. He closed his eyes, pictured Jaron over him, touching him, inside him – and yelled as the burning hit, hard and fast.  
  
  
Harry’s groin and chest burned to the point he was certain he’d see nothing but a blackened stump where his prick used to be. He barely made it to his own Floo, calling out for Ron.  
  
  
And it was when Ron Apparated him to Mungo’s that Harry had the first premonition that he truly might not be so lucky. Because arriving seconds after they did, with Harry screaming in pain, came another person, also screaming – Malfoy.  
  
  
**  
  
When Harry woke up, the first person he saw was Jaron, sitting next to his bed and dozing. “Jaron,” he murmured.  
  
  
Jaron immediately opened his eyes and leaned forward, his fingers barely touching Harry’s face. “Oh, luv. You should’ve told me.” Even his scolding was gentle, though, and Harry could see the worry in those beautiful eyes.  
  
  
“Sorry,” Harry whispered. It hurt to talk, and Harry suspected he’d been screaming a lot. “Water?” Jaron had it in his hand almost before Harry finished the word, and he drank gratefully. “What happened?” Harry asked. “I’m sorry you got called away --”  
  
  
Jaron stopped him with a gentle squeeze to Harry’s hand, and only then did Harry notice that Jaron was being very careful in how he touched him. “You’ve been here for almost four days, Harry. Yes, Kings Owled that first night, but I was done with the mission. Since then, you’ve been mostly unconscious – after yelling and screaming for hours, I might add.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Harry closed his eyes, feeling the supposed luck slipping away for good. “Do they know what’s going on?”  
  
  
“I think so.” Jaron sounded unhappy, and Harry’s eyes shot open.  
  
  
“What? What is it?”  
  
  
Jaron swallowed and smiled, though it looked pretty forced. “Well, the good news is that you’re not going to die or anything.”  
  
  
Harry started to tighten his grip on Jaron’s hand, but then, as a strange warmth began in his finger tips, he let go. “What – what was that?”  
  
  
Jaron sat back, letting go completely. “That was the reaction of your bond.”  
  
  
“My -- what?”  
  
  
Jaron just looked at him for a moment, and to Harry’s horror, tears filled those dark eyes. “You’re bonded, Harry. And as far as anyone can tell, it’s permanent. You don’t have to consummate it or anything, but if either of you attempts to be with anyone else, you’ll both experience that pain. And each time it happens, your ability to recuperate – and possibly your ability to remain sexually, um, potent in the future – will diminish.” Jaron spoke faster and faster through his explanation, until the end, where the words gushed out in a torrent of sound.   
  
  
Harry heard the sorrow, the frustration, the fear – everything was in Jaron’s voice. He tried to process what he’d heard. “So I don’t have to have sex with this other person, but I can’t have sex with anyone else, ever again?” His voice rose until it was almost a shriek.  
  
  
Jaron simply nodded, and Harry stared at him, aghast.  
  
  
After a few seconds, Harry cleared his throat. “But…I love  _you_. There isn’t anyone else – are they certain I’m bonded? I don’t understand how that can be.”  
  
  
“I love you too, Harry,” Jaron said. “So much, but – I don’t know if I can stand to be around you and never touch you. Right now, we can still get away with non-sexual touches, but the second you touch me with any emotion, the pain will begin. And I don’t know if either of us can live like that.” He took a breath, his eyes darting away. “I don’t think  _I_  can live like that.”  
  
  
“You’re breaking up with me.” And then the pain hit – not the burning of before, but the breaking of Harry’s heart.  
  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry. I just – I can’t --”  
  
  
And Jaron got up and rushed out, leaving Harry alone.  
  
  
Except he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t even noticed the magical curtain between him and the opposite wall until it moved aside. Lying in the other bed was no other than Malfoy, looking even paler than usual.  
  
  
**  
  
Harry’d yelled and growled and wished he had something to throw. In the end, however, he’d given up and turned on his side, his back to that sneak Malfoy, and curled up. He managed to keep his weeping silent (years of practice as a kid, of course), but he suspected Malfoy knew. He’d lain there for the entire break-up, after all, the git.  
  
  
The thing was, up to this point, Harry’d had no real problems with Malfoy. They’d basically buried the proverbial hatchet during Auror training. And since they’d been partnered a number of times in the past two years, Harry had even learned to appreciate Malfoy’s dry and often sarcastic humour, his cutting way of speaking, his impatience with pretty much everyone around him.  
  
  
He even found him attractive, though he’d not been tempted to break away from Jaron in order to give anything with Malfoy a try. Plus, Malfoy had never shown the slightest interest in Harry that way.  
  
  
But to have  _him_ , of all people, witness the most painful moment of Harry’s life since the war – well, that so wasn’t on.  
  
  
Harry cried until he was certain there was no moisture left in his body. Why did this have to happen to him – wait. He blinked his hot eyes, something sinking in. If he had this bond, this bond which was tearing apart his life, then  _who_  was he bonded to?  
  
  
Oh, God. Oh, no. Harry couldn’t believe it. “It’s you.”  
  
  
“Yes, you moron.” Malfoy didn’t even sound that disgusted. Mostly, Harry heard the same weariness he felt.  
  
  
Harry replayed the last few days – well, the days he’d been conscious – in his mind. “Are you the reason why I had all that pain in the middle of the day? Were you  _doing_  something?” It was the only time the pain had come when Harry wasn’t doing anything sex-related.  
  
  
He still couldn’t look at Malfoy, but he heard the bedclothes rustling, like Malfoy shrugged. “Very articulate, Potter.” Malfoy gave a loud sigh. “My fiancée and I were…spending quality time together.”  
  
  
Harry blinked at the sound of Malfoy’s voice. He sounded strange, like he was hiding something. “Erm, you’re engaged?”  
  
  
“Yes.” A pause, and then, “And I intend to follow through with it, Potter. So don’t be counting on me to fill in for the other Shacklebolt.”  
  
  
That got Harry’s attention, and he turned over, facing Malfoy with a scowl. “Like I’d even want you to, you git. And you’re not marrying anyone if I have to go through that kind of pain just for you to get off.”  
  
  
Malfoy scowled right back. “You’re such an idiot. I don’t have to be intimate to get married, you pillock. I’m not that into pain, either. However, I need an heir, and Astoria and I have already made plans. We’ll find a way to deal with the pain. Beyond that, I’d rather be celibate than be with you.” He closed his eyes as he spoke.  
  
  
Harry felt like he’d been punched. Malfoy didn’t need to be such a git about it. Harry hadn’t been cruel. Of course, Jaron always said he’d make a terrible spy. He kept his emotions too close to the surface.  
  
  
 _Jaron._  Unbelievably, tears burned his eyes again, and Harry turned his face away, wishing he could just go back and do it all over. Why had they destroyed all the Time Turners, anyway?  
  
  
**  
  
Twenty-four hours later, Harry found himself back in his own flat. Jaron had already come and removed his things while Harry was in hospital. Harry had been put on leave until he and Malfoy ‘worked out their bond'. Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and, since Malfoy had been gone when he woke up again that morning, he hadn’t asked. The healers had said a load of stuff, but Harry hadn’t really heard much. He always had a hard time listening when he was upset.  
  
  
A couple of phrases had caught his attention, though, mostly because of Malfoy’s reaction: ‘emotionally-leading bond’ and ‘not physically based'. Malfoy’s mouth had tightened at both those points – though why Harry had been watching his face closely enough to notice that, he wasn’t sure.  
  
  
He flopped on the sofa, wondering if he should Owl Malfoy.  _Fuck it,_  he thought, putting his arm over his eyes. He decided just to sit there. That seemed much less painful.  
  
  
Two hours later, the Floo burned green, and Hermione stepped through. “Oh, Harry.” She didn’t say anything else, just sat beside him and put her arms around him. Harry stiffened for a second, but when nothing happened, he realised that the bond obviously recognised the difference between platonic love and romantic or sexual love. Or maybe that was the ‘not physically based’ stuff – though it had to be somewhat physical, since the pain had only come when one of them was trying to shag. Which reminded him of Jaron.  
  
  
He melted into Hermione, tears again filling his eyes. “He left,” he said. “Jaron just walked away.”  
  
  
“Oh, Harry.” She rubbed his back. “I’m so sorry. You two made such a great couple…I know he’s hurting too,” she added, whispering.  
  
  
Harry shook his head. “It didn’t seem like it.” He knew that was a lie, though. He’d seen the pain in Jaron’s eyes. And Jaron, unlike him, was very good at hiding his feelings normally, so Harry knew how bad it must have been.  
  
  
“I hate this,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
  
“Have you felt any compulsion to be with – with him?”  
  
  
Harry shook his head, feeling her hair on his face. “No. Thank Merlin.”  
  
  
“You should talk to him, Harry,” Hermione finally said. “Avoiding this won’t make it any better.”  
  
  
Harry snorted, pulling back. “I completely disagree. Avoiding this is the only way it’ll get better.”  
  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it and simply gave him a slight smile. “You know you can come to me, right? And I’m sure Ron too.”  
  
  
Harry had to smile a bit at that. “Ron will freak. Do you think he’s heard?”  
  
  
Ron had dropped out of Auror training a few weeks in to help George at the shop. Then he’d realised how much he loved it, and now he and Pansy Parkinson, of all people, worked the shop they’d opened a couple of months ago in Hogsmeade.  
  
  
“Pansy probably told him. I’m sure she knows, since she’s friends with Daphne Greengrass, and Malfoy’s engaged to Daphne’s sister Astoria.”  
  
  
That got Harry’s attention. “Malfoy’s engaged to a woman?” He’d heard Malfoy say her name, of course, but it hadn’t sunk in.  
  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pureblood, Harry. Remember?”  
  
  
“Oh, right.” Then he sighed, closing his eyes and sinking back into the sofa. “Great. This just gets better and better.”  
  
  
“Talk to him,” Hermione said. “Malfoy’s not so bad, as you know, and he’s not stupid either.”  
  
  
“He already told me he was going through with the marriage,” Harry said. “He’s not interested in me like that – he’d rather go without sex forever than spend time with me.”  
  
  
Harry thought he’d said it neutrally, calmly. But Hermione must have heard something. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered.  
  
  
He opened his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Hermione. I’ll be okay. I always am.”  
  
  
**  
  
Four days later, after more enforced time off (since he and Malfoy still hadn’t worked out anything, as they’d had no contact whatsoever), Harry wasn’t so sure. He was restless, irritable. He didn’t burn, but his skin itched – not the kind he could scratch, either. He couldn’t really sleep, and he was so horny. He’d wanked about five times a day, but although he’d come and get soft, he felt no satisfaction. Weirdly, he hadn’t thought about Jaron during. In fact, he’d been careful not to think of anyone specific – he’d just kept some vague pictures in his head, trying to get off. Apparently that worked with the bond. Still, he wanted… he wasn’t even sure  _what_  he wanted.  
  
  
He’d also stopped eating much. Food just didn’t taste good, and something about the texture of most things made him nauseous. He didn’t want to spend time with anyone, either – except Jaron. God, he missed Jaron so much it  _hurt_. He actually felt like his insides were aching from missing him. It didn’t help that he couldn’t think of him in a sexual way without the burning coming back – he’d tried it for a second, but when the tip of his prick practically smoldered, he’d pushed those thoughts far away.  
  
  
“Ahhh!” He couldn’t take it any more. Harry got up from the sofa, grabbed a leather jacket, and left his flat for the first time since arriving there from Mungo’s. “I don’t even care,” he muttered to himself. “Something has to change.”  
  
  
He didn’t even reason through what he planned – he wasn’t really planning at all. Well, he wasn’t going to admit if he was.  
  
  
Instead, he reached the nearest Apparation point and turned into space. When he landed, he couldn’t help but grin. He strode into the club, breathing deeply and taking in the scents of sex, musk, sweat. This wasn’t a good idea, he knew, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t go on like he had been for one more second.  
  
  
Harry pushed through the scantily-clad bodies writhing together. He hadn’t been to this club in a long time – in fact, it had been before he and Jaron had been officially together. He’d come here right after Kingsley told him about wizarding sexuality, when he’d realised that he preferred blokes and that it was okay. He’d already met Jaron, but he wanted a night of no commitment first. He wanted to pull and suck and shag without any thought for the next day. And he had.  
  
  
Now he stood in the middle of the dance floor, bodies pushing against him on all sides, and he lifted his arms and began moving. He wasn’t a great dancer; he never had been. But he could move to the music, and when everyone around him was focused on the beat and the smells and the feels, no one really cared. Better yet, there was no emotion – just basic lust.  
  
  
Within minutes, he had two blokes plastered against him, one at each end. The one behind pushed a hard cock against Harry’s lower back; the one in front bent his knees just a bit so that their groins pressed together. Harry moaned, his head falling back onto the shoulder of the bloke behind. The one in front seemed to take that as an invitation to lick and suck Harry’s throat, and Harry moaned more.  
  
  
God, it felt so good. Both of them sandwiched him, pushing and rubbing and kissing his exposed skin. It felt amazing – until it didn’t. Until it started burning, and then Harry crumpled to the floor, wondering if his skin was boiling right off his body.  
  
  
Suddenly, a loud crack cut through the noise of the club, and an angry voice said something. Harry couldn’t make out the words through the pain, but within seconds, a long-fingered hand cupped his cheek, smoothing away the tears of agony.  
  
  
“Potter, you idiot,” Malfoy said. Harry couldn’t see that well, but he heard the pain in Malfoy’s voice. “What the bloody hell were you thinking? Didn’t you pay any attention to what the healers said?”  
  
  
“N-no,” Harry managed to get out. Beyond those two phrases, all he’d heard was Jaron leaving him and Malfoy’s emotionless voice saying, ‘I’d rather be celibate.’  
  
  
“Come on,” Malfoy said, and it sounded like he was having trouble getting it past his teeth. “We’re leaving.” He pulled Harry close, rose to his feet, and Apparated.  
  
  
When they landed, Malfoy fell to his knees, dropping Harry on a hard floor. “I can’t believe what an idiot you are,” he muttered, yanking at Harry’s shirt. When his palm touched Harry’s bare chest, a soothing warmth sank into Harry.  
  
  
In his shock, he opened his eyes, blinking away the tears of pain, suddenly aware that the burning of only moments before had faded everywhere Malfoy had touched him. “What happened?”  
  
  
“You stupid git,” Malfoy muttered, shrugging out of his own shirt. He leaned down and pressed his body against Harry’s, not seeming to care that he was forcing Harry’s head and back into the rock-hard floor. “Do you ever pay attention to anything? Do you even care about the pain you caused  _me_?” He almost yelled that last bit, nipping at Harry’s collarbone with his teeth. Strangely, it didn’t hurt.  
  
  
In fact, it felt better than almost anything else. Harry touched his wand and managed to cast a Cushioning Charm to ease the discomfort beneath him. Then, he arched up into Malfoy’s touch. “More,” he breathed.  
  
  
“I hate you,” Malfoy growled, right before he attacked Harry’s mouth. It wasn’t tender; it wasn’t loving. It was angry and filled with teeth and a hint of blood.  
  
  
It was amazing. Moments later, Harry’s jeans and underpants were long gone, banished somewhere. Malfoy’s lean body moved over his, pressing into him, their skin sliding, rubbing, catching, burning – but this time, the burn was the fire of passion and pleasure.  
  
  
“More,” Harry moaned again. “Oh, God, more.”  
  
  
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Malfoy said, as he pushed two fingers inside Harry without any prep. It burned again, but Harry didn’t care. He couldn’t care when it felt so good. Then Malfoy followed up his fingers with his prick, and Harry arched, keening.  
  
  
It was over almost immediately, the white heat pulsing through Harry, spilling out onto his stomach, onto Malfoy’s chest, on his skin, the mingled sweat stinging the scratches Malfoy’d put into his skin with his fingernails and his teeth.  
  
  
Malfoy pulled out right away, collapsing on the floor next to Harry. He snorted in between pants. “A Cushioning Charm. Should’ve known.”  
  
  
The silence lengthened, but strangely, it didn’t get uncomfortable. Finally, Harry said, “Is it really so horrible?” He tried not to sound petulant – or, worst yet, hurt.  
  
  
Malfoy – now Draco – sighed loudly. “Yes. No. It can’t be, can it? We have no choice. There’s no way out. We will have to learn to live with this, because the bond cannot be broken.”  
  
  
Something occurred to Harry in the midst of his post-coital euphoria. “What happens now that it’s been consummated?”  
  
  
“Because you, of course, weren’t paying any attention at St. Mungo’s.” Another sigh. “Now we’ll start needing, wanting, desiring to be closer to each other – both physically and in other ways.”  
  
  
“Oh.”  
  
  
“Yes. Oh.” Draco got up and started dressing. “Thanks a lot, Potter.”  
  
  
**  
  
The next morning, Pansy and Hermione called a meeting. Harry wasn’t sure how that happened, but apparently the two women had become friends, perhaps because they’d both had relationships with Ron.  
  
  
Harry spent the night in his own bed. In fact, Draco had kicked him out moments after their brief conversation. His jeans and underpants were long gone, so he’d transfigured a blanket into a cloak to cover himself. Draco had watched with no expression. “I’m tired. You’re tired,” Draco had said. “And I need to see Astoria.”  
  
  
Harry hoped he’d hidden the hurt and betrayal – and jealousy – he felt at those words. He’d gathered his shirt and left.  
  
  
He hadn’t slept much, though, so the Owl calling him to Hermione’s flat had been mostly a relief. Mostly.  
  
  
He managed a shower, and he hoped it looked like he’d got a little sleep. He couldn’t tame his hair, of course, but did it really matter? Even though Draco’d said it wasn’t horrible, the fact that he'd gone back to Astoria spoke louder than anything else.  
  
  
Of course, that hadn’t been the only thing keeping him awake. He also didn’t understand how he could sleep with someone else only four days after Jaron left him – how he could almost  _crave_  another man’s touch. Hadn’t he loved Jaron? He simply couldn’t believe that a stupid bond – a potion-induced bond, no less – could replace that love.  
  
  
Worst than that was the jealousy towards Astoria and the envy he felt for Draco. After all, Draco still had his lover – she hadn’t run off the second she heard about this bond thing. Why was Harry alone? Why was he the only one facing a future without love or even sex? So many emotions swirled inside him. He didn’t know what to do or how to think.  
  
  
In that state, he Apparated to the alley near Hermione’s flat. After a few deep breaths to calm himself, he went to Hermione’s front door. Before he could even knock, Pansy yanked the door open. “Finally,” she said, gesturing him inside.  
  
  
When Harry slipped off his shoes and found his way to the sitting room, he froze. Draco sat on a small sofa with a blonde woman at his side, so close she was almost in Draco’s lap. Draco had his arm around her protectively, and Harry couldn’t breathe for a second.  
  
  
Then someone pulled away from a corner, and Harry saw Ron. Ron looked more than a little agitated, but his blue eyes were worried when he approached Harry. “Sit down, mate,” he said, pulling Harry to the other sofa. He sat beside Harry as Hermione came in from the kitchen and sat on a couch, George right behind her.  
  
  
“Took you long enough,” Harry muttered to Hermione, referring to George. She stuck her tongue out, but George winked. Harry almost mustered a smile.  
  
  
Pansy didn’t sit but stood in front of the mantlepiece. To Harry’s surprise, she directed her glare at Draco. “You two need to talk, and we’re all going to sit here until you do.”  
  
  
“This isn’t your business,” Draco said, tightening his grip on Astoria.  
  
  
Pansy’s glare intensified. “Oh, I think it is. Because of  _you_  and Golden Boy here, I’m not getting any.”  
  
  
Harry blinked, glancing at Ron who’d turned an interesting shade of red. “Didn’t know that was still going on,” he murmured.  
  
  
Ron managed to turn an even darker shade, but Hermione saved him from speaking. “Draco, we care about both of you. And we’re worried about Harry.”  
  
  
Harry frowned. “I’m fine,” he protested.  
  
  
Hermione didn’t even bother to look at him. “Harry’s not eating. He hasn’t left his home --”  
  
  
“That’s not true,” Harry said, interrupting. “I went out just last night --” And then he broke off, remembering how that had ended.  
  
  
Draco shook his head. “If Potter would just pull his idiot head out of his arse, everything would be fine. We can work out some details, if needed, but Astoria and I  _are_  getting married.”  
  
  
Pansy actually stomped her high-heeled boot. “Draco, you  _cannot_  marry Astoria! It’s not fair to her or to Harry – or to yourself. You have to let go of the past and move forward --”  
  
  
“She’s right, you bastard,” Ron put in. “You’re such a selfish git! Harry’s not going to be in this alone, and you have no right to put him through that kind of pain just for your own bloody selfishness.”  
  
  
“I’m not going --” Draco started, but Hermione interrupted.  
  
  
“You two need to talk about this and do some research on bonds. It took me about five minutes to discover that any bond – no matter how it’s formed – will eventually need to be fed and nurtured, or it will turn on you. You guys need to figure out how to do that. None of us wants to see you both hurt.”  
  
  
“No one knows anything about our bond,” Draco argued, his face beginning to flush. Harry noticed that Astoria simply leaned into him, as if she had no opinion on the matter. “The healers couldn’t even tell us which potions had been used or any of the main ingredients. They have no idea how those mystery ingredients mingled with our own magical signatures. Basically, this bond is nothing like any other bond they’ve seen and, therefore, no one knows what will happen next.”  
  
  
Hermione shook her head. “Draco, you’re smarter than that. Bonds may be unique, but every one of them has the same basic structure, especially any bond which is a permanent bond. There aren’t enough variables to diminish those aspects. You and Harry  _have_  to work this out between you – and  _only_  between the two of you,” she added, darting a glance at Astoria.  
  
  
Draco pulled Astoria into his lap. “I already told you – I’m marrying Astoria! I don’t care about this bloody bond, and I don’t care what you all say. It’s my life, not yours!”  
  
  
The room erupted at that, and as Hermione, Ron, and Pansy all screamed at Draco – and as George quickly collected wands – Harry just left. He didn’t return home, though. He didn’t want to be found. Instead, he wandered the streets near Hermione’s flat. She lived in a half-wizard, half-Muggle area, and Harry noted the variety of businesses he saw while he meandered.  
  
  
 _So that’s it,_  he thought. Draco wanted nothing to do with him. He was marrying his fiancée, regardless of Harry’s possible needs or wants, and Harry would simply have to deal with being alone.  
  
  
Maybe he could travel – perhaps thousands of miles between them would weaken the bond enough that Harry could at least have sex with a stranger. There wouldn’t be emotion, but he didn’t have to be completely alone, right?  
  
  
Harry swallowed against the ache which tightened his chest. He wished, like he had so many times in the past few days, that Jaron hadn’t just walked away. Clearly Harry wasn’t so very special after all. He wasn’t worth fighting for; he wasn’t worth loving, really. Not when it came down to it.  
  
  
Harry sighed then rolled his eyes. Enough with the pity. He could survive this. He’d had enough practice dealing with difficult times. And he’d been alone before too, so he could handle that, as well.  
  
  
Finding a small wooden bench, Harry sat down and began to plan. When thoughts of Draco started surface, he pushed them aside. Rubbing a small spot on his chest which burned a bit, he thought about where he could live. The States sounded good – that was quite far. He could even go to Australia. Hermione’s parents were still there, and that meant he might see Hermione – and probably George – regularly. He wouldn’t be friendless.  
  
  
The spot burned a little more, but Harry was determined to ignore it. He did wonder, though, what Draco was doing with Astoria to cause it – but that thought wasn’t good at all. God, what if he felt it every time Draco made love to his wife, even from thousands of miles away? And hadn’t Jaron said something about his recovery being harder after each experience?  
  
  
“No,” Harry muttered to himself. “I can’t think like this.” Tired of it, he got up and headed for a building which could have been a club. Two could play at this game, right? When he reached the run-down building, he realised he’d been right. The moment he went through the door, he saw the true inside – a wizarding club. It was still early, and Harry suspected they’d just opened.  
  
  
A few blokes were sitting at the bar, though, and one of them gave Harry a nice looking over. “Here for some fun?” he asked.  
  
  
He stood and swaggered towards Harry. The bloke was taller than Harry and well-built. He was a bit beefier than Harry preferred, but right now, Harry wasn’t going to be choosy. If Draco wanted nothing to do with him – and if he was going to have sex with Astoria and cause Harry pain until he couldn’t even use his own prick – then Harry was going to do what he could right now.  
  
  
“Sure,” he told the guy. “Let’s go.”  
  
  
The guy led him towards a back room, and Harry carefully shoved all emotion aside. He couldn’t afford to feel anything which would bring Draco here. Once in the room, the bloke leered a bit as he looked Harry up and down. “What do you want, gorgeous?”  
  
  
Puh-lease. Harry sighed. He was a long cry from gorgeous, but whatever worked. “What would you like?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.  
  
  
The guy’s eyebrows rose a bit when he looked at the scratches and bites Harry hadn’t bothered to heal. “You like it rough, do you?”  
  
  
Harry shrugged, suddenly glad it was dim enough that the guy hadn’t seemed to notice who he was. “Sometimes. Right now, though, I just want to get off.”  
  
  
“Oh, I can definitely help with that,” the guy said, and he dropped to his knees and opened Harry’s zip. Harry moaned as a hot tongue lapped at his slit and – “ahhh!” The burning began, worse than before. Harry jerked away from the bloke and fell onto the small bed. “Oh, God,” he groaned, wishing he could douse his prick with cold water.  
  
  
“What’s wrong with you?” the bloke asked. “What are you taking?”  
  
  
“He’s not taking anything,” another voice said as the door slammed open. “Potter, I’ve had enough!”  
  
  
“Potter?”  
  
  
Harry ignored his supposed partner, whimpering. “H-how?”  
  
  
“You are the biggest idiot I’ve ever known,” Draco said. He pulled Harry into his arms. “I can’t believe you’ve made me do this again.” And he turned, Apparating them straight to his flat again.  
  
  
He didn’t drop Harry this time, however. Instead, they landed on a soft rug beside a huge bed. Draco gently tucked Harry’s prick back into his pants before stepping back, running his slender fingers through his hair.  
  
  
The pain once again faded, and Harry lay on the rug watching, barely noticing he still had no shirt. “I don’t understand. How do you keep finding me? And why is there pain when I’m not doing anything with emotion?”  
  
  
Draco stared at him, his grey eyes wide. Harry couldn’t quite figure out what he saw in those eyes, however. Then something else occurred to him. “And why can you have sex with Astoria when I can’t even get off with a complete stranger?”  
  
  
Draco swallowed then glanced away. “I suppose Granger is right. We do need to talk.”  
  
  
Suddenly, Harry was angry. “Why would we need to talk? So you can tell me yet again how much I disgust you? How you’d rather be completely alone and miserable rather than being with me? How I’m the last person who ever existed who might be worthy of your love and attention?” He jumped to his feet. “I don’t need to hear that again, Draco. You go ahead and marry your perfect lover. I’ll find my own way out.”  
  
  
He started to storm out of the room when Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist. Harry could’ve got free – maybe. Draco had a strong grip. Either way, he stopped. “What do you want from me?” he whispered, looking at the thick rug beneath his feet.  
  
  
There was a pause, and then Draco started talking, his voice low. “I never said you disgusted me. I definitely never said Astoria was my perfect lover. And even though I said that I’d rather be celibate, I --” He faltered and stopped. Then he looked right at Harry, his cheeks flushed. “The truth is, I was jealous.”  
  
  
Harry gaped. “J-jealous? Of who?”  
  
  
“Whom,” Draco said softly. Then he took a deep breath. “Of the other Shacklebolt. Of the relationship you two had. You were so obviously destroyed when he left, and all I could think was that Astoria wouldn’t even notice if I left. Wouldn’t notice and certainly wouldn’t care.”  
  
  
Harry stepped closer without thinking, his eyes glued to Draco’s face. “What do you mean? She’s clearly devoted to you – she doesn’t even care about this bond. She still wants to be with you, even if she can’t touch you. Jaron just walked away.”  
  
  
Draco shook his head. “She doesn’t care, Harry. That’s why she’s willing to stay with it. Her family is pressuring her to marry a pure-blood, and despite our – mistakes – during the war, we’re very pure-blood.” His mouth twisted a bit. “I think she might be asexual, truth be told.”  
  
  
“A – that’s possible?” Harry murmured. Then he frowned. “But you – that day, when Jaron was gone, I had all that pain, and you said --”  
  
  
Draco flushed a deeper pink. Harry tried not to notice how adorable that looked. “It wasn’t a total lie. I was with Astoria. And we were, um, being  _intimate_. But I was thinking about you.”  
  
  
“Me?” Harry couldn’t believe it.  
  
  
Draco let go of his wrist and turned away. His voice got lower, and Harry had to strain to hear him. “It’s always you. I’m not attracted to Astoria. Never have been. The only way I can get hard even is to think of someone else. And it’s been you for the past year or so. And with this bond, I can sense when you’re, um, coming. Or even when you’re feeling desire or lust. That’s how I could Apparate to you – I felt where you were, like a rope leading me straight to you.”  
  
  
Harry stood still, trying to take it all in. “Then why – why were you fighting the bond so much? Why were you insisting you had to marry her?”  
  
  
“Because you’re so clearly in love with your lover. You don’t want me – you  _wouldn’t_  want me if it wasn’t for the bond. I didn’t want to be your second choice.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Harry thought about that. Then he thought about Jaron. It had been fourteen days since the potions accident, five since Jaron left him. Yes, it still hurt. But bond or not, Harry couldn’t deny that his feelings for Draco had changed. He’d always found him attractive, but now, he wanted more. He wanted Draco’s attention. He wanted Draco’s affection – he wanted Draco’s love.  
  
  
“I can’t do anything about the bond and its effects,” Harry said, taking another step towards Draco. They were almost touching now. “I don’t know what would’ve happened without it. Maybe Jaron and I would stay together – but maybe we wouldn’t. He left pretty easily, after all.” Harry reached out and put his hand on Draco’s back. “But regardless of all that, right here and now, I want you, Draco. Not Jaron. You.”  
  
  
Draco gave a small laugh that was almost a sob. “I wish you’d want me without the bond.”  
  
  
“We’ll never know, I guess. I’ve always thought you were sexy, though.”  
  
  
A real laugh this time. “Of course. I  _am_  sexy.” He turned around, and Harry drank in the sight of those beautiful grey eyes, the silky hair, the pink lips and flushed cheeks.  
  
  
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he leaned up and captured those perfect lips with his own. “Fuck me?” he asked, letting the neediness and desire he felt to come out in his voice.  
  
  
Draco looked at him seriously. “No. But I’ll make love to you.” And then he pulled Harry flush to him, his hands on Harry’s arse, his tongue in Harry’s mouth. The burning this time was even greater than before – and it was nothing but white, hot pleasure.  
  
  
**  
  
The next morning, Harry woke in Draco’s large bed, with Draco’s arm over his waist. He knew they still had things to work through, and he supposed they’d actually have to talk with the healers again, just to be safe. But he felt good. Better than good, truth be told. He was happy.   
  
  
Harry smiled and pushed his hips back into the hardness he felt there, laughing out loud when Draco tightened his arm around Harry’s waist and muttered something about, “insatiable gits". Yes, this had promise.  
  
  
**  
  
 _Six months later_  
  
  
“Harry?”  
  
  
Harry turned around, shocked to see Jaron – and even more shocked to realise he hadn’t recognised his voice.  “Jaron.”  He held out his hand.  
  
  
Jaron hesitated then took it, his touch light.   
  
  
Harry frowned until he remembered how things had been when they’d parted.  “Oh, you needn’t worry about that.  My bond with Draco has solidified, and I no longer feel any pain from touch from others.”  
  
  
Jaron smiled, though it looked a little forced.  “I’m glad, Harry.”  
  
  
Harry looked at him, ignoring the usual noise and bustle of Diagon Alley. He hadn’t seen Jaron since that day in hospital.  He didn’t know if Jaron had asked Kingsley about him or not, but he certainly hadn’t ever bothered to come to Harry for information.  Truth was, although he’d believed himself to be in love with Jaron – and therefore he’d been ‘broken hearted’ when Jaron left – the way he felt about Draco, even after only six months, completely overshadowed anything he’d experienced with anyone else, including Jaron.  And since Draco had broken off his engagement with Astoria right after their ‘talk’ – and refused to see her since then – he knew Draco felt the same.  
  
  
“How about you?” Harry asked now.  “Are things going okay for you?”  
  
  
Jaron’s smiled relaxed a bit.  “They are.  I just started seeing someone, and it seems to be good so far. I feel hopeful.”  
  
  
Harry smiled back.  “Good.”  In the back of his mind, he felt a tug, which usually meant Draco had just gotten home and was waiting for him.  “Well, I’ve got to run,” Harry said, hoping Jaron no longer recognised the signs of Harry’s arousal.  It took very little for Draco to get him going.  
  
  
Jaron didn’t seem to notice and simply shook Harry’s hand again.  “I really am pleased for you, Harry,” he said softly.  
  
  
“And I for you,” Harry agreed.  He waited until Jaron walked away before almost sprinting to the nearest Apparition point.  As he turned into space, he realised again how glad he was for this bond.  It might have been caused by a potions accident, and it might not have been wanted at first, but Harry had found more satisfaction – and not just sexually – from Draco than he’d ever thought possible.  Yes, life was good.

 

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